was trying to help you? Maybe this bar is the answer.”
Molly’s heart stilled. “Maybe. Maybe they can help.”
She wasn’t going to run, and she wasn’t done fighting. No, the battle against Tensley Knight had just begun.
MOLLY FROZE WHEN she saw the dilapidated building in front of them. It was dark inside, and a few people were lined up, waiting to enter at ten o’clock at night. The place definitely wasn’t thriving like Manhattan’s bars, but for Coney Island it was all right. Molly had read about the bar their entire trip over, hoping the research might make her feel less nervous about the place.
“C’mon, Mol,” September hollered across the street, racing over to hook an arm through Molly’s. Loud, heavy music boomed from the structure, and she squinted.
“Shoot the Freak,” Molly muttered, reading the faded sign.
“Sounds pleasant, huh?” Molly shot her a glare. “Let’s just get inside.”
“Remember, if things go sour—”
“We leave, I know. You’ve been telling me this the last three hours.”
They walked to the door, but a guy the size of two Septembers blocked their way.
“IDs,” he demanded, hand outstretched.
The two of them exchanged looks, and September smiled. She took his hand, shook it, and let go. When he gazed down at the money in his palm, he immediately handed it back.
“Hey!” September tried to shove it back into his closed fist.
“Get lost,” he snapped.
Just as September huffed and turned, Molly thought over the note.
“Athena?” she whispered.
“I said to leave! Or I’ll call the cops!” the doorman yelled.
“Athena?” she repeated, louder.
The man’s pockmarked face relaxed. “Go on.” He moved aside and opened the door for them.
The bar was busy and hazy with smoke. Molly swore she tasted whiskey in the air, and she had to work to stifle a cough.
“Now what?” September asked, scanning the room.
“I don’t know.” Molly glanced around, located the bartender, and marched over with September in tow. “Excuse me,” she said to the bartender when she’d gotten his attention. “We’re looking for someone to help us…with a situation.”
“Looking for Cree?” he said, teeth flashing blue in the club’s bizarre lighting—not the best look for him.
“Uh, well, if he knows how to get rid of demons…” September tried to laugh it off and Molly spun, her eyes widening.
The bartender stopped wiping down the counter and leaned forward. “How did you get in here?”
Both girls grew rigid.
“Uh…someone referred me,” Molly said while wringing her hands.
The man simply stared back, working his mouth as if mulling over whether to toss them out or not. “You’ll find Cree sitting over there.”
“Well, he was friendly,” September murmured as they walked away. “I could feel the hospitality just oozing off him.”
Then she halted and the two of them stared at a brown-haired man reading over scattered papers. He didn’t look much older than the girls but had a strong, rigid posture of a man who had seen and done things most had not. “Hi, are you Cree?”
“Yeah.” His steady eyes flickered up and his brow furrowed. “Can I help you? He cracked a nut on the table— crunch— and popped it into his pinched mouth.
Molly went to open her mouth, but the sight of someone else stopped her.
Albert, still hidden by his wild beard, stood across the room, sipping a beer.
“Hey?” She turned to see the man had been trying to speak with her, his eyes filled with concern.
“You came.” At the sound of Albert’s voice, Molly turned to see he had stepped toward her, mouth agape. “I didn’t think you’d have the balls.”
“You know these girls, Al?” the man asked, his eyes staying trained on Molly.
Albert nodded his head at her. “She’s the one the Knight boy was trying to hide.”
They know his family?
“I’m sorry about Jackson,” Molly said.
Albert’s jaw relaxed and
Molly’s heart stilled. “Maybe. Maybe they can help.”
She wasn’t going to run, and she wasn’t done fighting. No, the battle against Tensley Knight had just begun.
MOLLY FROZE WHEN she saw the dilapidated building in front of them. It was dark inside, and a few people were lined up, waiting to enter at ten o’clock at night. The place definitely wasn’t thriving like Manhattan’s bars, but for Coney Island it was all right. Molly had read about the bar their entire trip over, hoping the research might make her feel less nervous about the place.
“C’mon, Mol,” September hollered across the street, racing over to hook an arm through Molly’s. Loud, heavy music boomed from the structure, and she squinted.
“Shoot the Freak,” Molly muttered, reading the faded sign.
“Sounds pleasant, huh?” Molly shot her a glare. “Let’s just get inside.”
“Remember, if things go sour—”
“We leave, I know. You’ve been telling me this the last three hours.”
They walked to the door, but a guy the size of two Septembers blocked their way.
“IDs,” he demanded, hand outstretched.
The two of them exchanged looks, and September smiled. She took his hand, shook it, and let go. When he gazed down at the money in his palm, he immediately handed it back.
“Hey!” September tried to shove it back into his closed fist.
“Get lost,” he snapped.
Just as September huffed and turned, Molly thought over the note.
“Athena?” she whispered.
“I said to leave! Or I’ll call the cops!” the doorman yelled.
“Athena?” she repeated, louder.
The man’s pockmarked face relaxed. “Go on.” He moved aside and opened the door for them.
The bar was busy and hazy with smoke. Molly swore she tasted whiskey in the air, and she had to work to stifle a cough.
“Now what?” September asked, scanning the room.
“I don’t know.” Molly glanced around, located the bartender, and marched over with September in tow. “Excuse me,” she said to the bartender when she’d gotten his attention. “We’re looking for someone to help us…with a situation.”
“Looking for Cree?” he said, teeth flashing blue in the club’s bizarre lighting—not the best look for him.
“Uh, well, if he knows how to get rid of demons…” September tried to laugh it off and Molly spun, her eyes widening.
The bartender stopped wiping down the counter and leaned forward. “How did you get in here?”
Both girls grew rigid.
“Uh…someone referred me,” Molly said while wringing her hands.
The man simply stared back, working his mouth as if mulling over whether to toss them out or not. “You’ll find Cree sitting over there.”
“Well, he was friendly,” September murmured as they walked away. “I could feel the hospitality just oozing off him.”
Then she halted and the two of them stared at a brown-haired man reading over scattered papers. He didn’t look much older than the girls but had a strong, rigid posture of a man who had seen and done things most had not. “Hi, are you Cree?”
“Yeah.” His steady eyes flickered up and his brow furrowed. “Can I help you? He cracked a nut on the table— crunch— and popped it into his pinched mouth.
Molly went to open her mouth, but the sight of someone else stopped her.
Albert, still hidden by his wild beard, stood across the room, sipping a beer.
“Hey?” She turned to see the man had been trying to speak with her, his eyes filled with concern.
“You came.” At the sound of Albert’s voice, Molly turned to see he had stepped toward her, mouth agape. “I didn’t think you’d have the balls.”
“You know these girls, Al?” the man asked, his eyes staying trained on Molly.
Albert nodded his head at her. “She’s the one the Knight boy was trying to hide.”
They know his family?
“I’m sorry about Jackson,” Molly said.
Albert’s jaw relaxed and
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